


Sour Times - Part 1

by forwhenmybrainhurts



Series: Sour Times [1]
Category: Hat Films - Fandom, The Yogscast
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Fae, Angst, Blood, Fire, Kissing, Loss, M/M, Mentions of other sexual activities, Mythical Beings & Creatures, Oral Sex, Polyamory, Smoking, Urban Magic Yogs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-19
Updated: 2015-08-19
Packaged: 2018-04-15 14:37:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4610490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/forwhenmybrainhurts/pseuds/forwhenmybrainhurts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Weeks have passed since Ross left. The court is struggling to adjust, and rifts are starting to widen.</p>
<p>I'm planning on releasing this story bit by bit, as there's so much in my head that it's going to take a <i>while</i>.</p>
<p>This is angsty and sad, but that's what I'm good a writing.</p>
<p>pained/sexy/sad/creepy playlist <a href="https://open.spotify.com/user/queen_zombie/playlist/4iXDYeg7BG70t4aUcOXivF">here</a></p>
            </blockquote>





	Sour Times - Part 1

Smith tore at the man’s face. He didn’t even eat anything, simply ripped him to pieces. He reached a point of exhaustion, gripped the flesh that was in his hands with all that was left of his strength, and cried out across the river to the other bank.  
It was a cry of anguish, of loss and of hopelessness. He hadn’t felt this way for a long time, and after believing for so many years that he would never feel it again, he lost his appetite for everything apart from destruction.  
The kelpie had spent a lot of time at the river since Ross had left. Both pairs of his jeans were covered in earthiness, from him sitting on the saturated bank for hours at a time, staring at the surface of the water, making dents in the clay with his hands.

The first time he had done this, he’d been gone for seventeen hours. Trott sat beside him, after going to look for him. It wasn’t unlike Smith, of course, to disappear for a day or so, but Trott had panicked a little, given the circumstances. The river was the first place he looked.  
“Do you want to come home?” the selkie asked, softly.  
Smith sighed. “In a bit, yeah.” He wasn’t hiding, or running away, or angry at Trott or Sips. He just wanted to be on his own. Trott didn’t come looking for him again after that, he simply left him to whatever he needed to do.  
The kelpie himself couldn’t say why he had chosen the river as his home from home. The freshwater had never once bothered him since he left it behind. Any time spent there was with his Court, and was pleasant. It was never meaningful, or poignant. The bodies he would lay in the water were purely to satisfy any dark souls that might come back seeking revenge. That meant nothing to him either, it was to keep Trott happy after the unfortunate Wraith incident. He’d even cast his mind back to realise that he’d lived in the city longer than he’d ever lived anywhere else. There was no reason for seeking any answers at the river whatsoever.

The emptiness left behind by Ross could not be filled. The bond between them both felt as though it had been severed.  
It had been raining, and the water in the river was high. Smith watched the oozing red blood of the man in his arms dissipate the puddles of water in the depressions which had been made in the soil. He wondered at the sight, remembering the vial of blood around his neck, and that Ross had been the first of them to contribute to the cocktail. How did the marble bleed? Was there blood in the veins of marble? Or was is all just a product of imagination; some form of ancient magic bringing it into the real world?  
Whatever it was, everyone believed it, including Ross, and everyone trusted it. They trusted it to the point that questions didn’t need to be answered. Ross was Ross, and he was loved for it.

Crawling under the summer sheet, simply to wrap himself up as tightly as possible, Smith breathed heavily, smelling as many features of home as he could; the fabric conditioner, the piles of clothes scattered around - both clean and dirty - the shower gel he had just used, the painted wooden bedside table, Trott’s hair.  
The selkie moved to let Smith envelope him, and his heart ached with the childlike tightness of the hold. He could feel the kelpie’s breath behind his ear, and it sounded mournful. Trott’s fingertips traced the forearms which surrounded him, soothingly.  
It was just the two of them. Sips had gone to the club, keeping face to stop people talking. The clever man would simply hint at dastardly deeds when questioned about where the others might be. Trott would have gone with him, but felt compelled to stay at home, and warm the bed up. He knew Smith would be back tonight.  
The breathing was still heavy and powerful, but the emotion behind it had shifted. Smith was comforted, and happy to be where he was. The smell of Trott, and every tension and contour of his unclothed body under the kelpie’s embrace, was enough to warm the numbness inside.  
Trott had always been his number one addiction, despite what anyone - including Trott - may have thought. Breathing the selkie in, and allowing his lips to trace the back of Trott’s neck, Smith hummed his intentions. He was glad he had chosen this instead of whiskey, ruin, or blood.  
Trott’s yearning was awakened, as he reacted to the intimacy. He turned slowly to face Smith, and their eyes met. The kelpie’s hand came up to trace his cheek, and they stayed this way for a few moments, their long friendship obvious. They didn’t need to speak in their moments alone.  
Trott had a way of controlling things without people knowing. Smith’s instinct would be to let himself go, and dive into the moment, apparently dictating what would happen next, but all it ever took was a certain look, or touch, for Smith to be right back where Trott wanted him. It had always been this way, and would always be this way. After all, letting Smith have complete control over anything would only ever result in something getting wrecked.  
A twitch of a smile from Trott, and Smith kissed him; hard and full of craving. His hand moved to the back of the selkie’s head, and fingers weaved into the soft, brown waves of hair.  
With hot mouths moving, teeth clashing, and tongues pushing each other around, Smith was quickly hard. He couldn’t help but grind his hips against Trott’s thigh, as their legs coiled together.  
Trott murmured with the anticipation coming from the meeting of their skins. Desire overwhelmed him, which was another rare occurrence, and he grabbed Smith’s backside to pull him closer.  
“Fuck me,” he blurted, albeit hushed, and low.  
A groan of favour came from Smith in response, and he buried his teeth into Trott’s shoulder. Trott hissed an intake of breath, but his exhale was slow, marked with a moan of consent.  
Swiftly, and nimbly, Smith was on top of Trott, straddling the selkie’s hips, and grinding his own against them, softly. Another twitch, this time of the eyebrows, and Trott hooked his arms under Smith’s thighs to pull him up towards the pillows.  
Smith flashed a smile the likes of which hadn’t been seen for days, and shuffled his knees to rest on either side of Trott’s shoulders. With one hand supporting his imminent delirium against the wall above the headboard, Smith whispered approval as the other hand guided his hardness into Trott’s mouth.  
Audaciously, Smith vocalised exactly when Trott was hitting the right spots, and when the selkie’s plush lips simply ran from top to bottom, it would cause the muscles in Smith’s thighs to try and give way, in complete awe.  
Watching Smith fall apart above him, the pressure became less and less bearable for Trott. He growled around Smith’s cock, and took his own in one of his hands.  
The kelpie sensed the tension he had created, and leaned his temple against the cold wall to steady his fever  
“Trott,” he breathed.  
Trott’s eyes flicked up to stare. One more tongue from bottom to top, and the two of them held each other’s gaze as Smith moved himself back down the bed to rest between Trott’s thighs.  
Trott needed this. He needed to feel wanted, and Smith always wanted him. He couldn’t say why, but he longed to be the submissive one. That was new, and it was causing a knot somewhere in the back of the selkie’s mind.  
Swallowing the flutter of infatuation, and blinking out any ideas of yielding to Smith, he reinforced, “Fuck me.”  
Smith’s eyes burned into him, as the kelpie obliged.  
They both got what they wanted; Smith - effortlessly and without shame - coming hard, peppering the space between them with expletives and blasphemes, and Trott getting off on the way his lover sank into his ocean.  
They fell asleep in much the same position as they had fucked. Smith’s head rested on Trott’s chest, and their legs linked together, once they were both comfortable.  
It was Trott’s turn to inhale Smith’s scent. It was like when you could smell something dangerous - like smoke, or sugar - and felt compelled to get closer to it. The selkie planted soft kisses in the kelpie’s hair, grateful of his company, holding onto the moment to mask the pressing issue.

In the early morning, however, on a maximum of four hours sleep, Trott got out of bed determined. It was never too easy to wake Smith, and the selkie left him where he was. He could have looked almost innocent of any atrocity in that state, and Trott allowed himself some amusement.  
Sips had slept on the sofa. A pang of affection hit Trott in the stomach. He knew that his king had taken one look at the couple sleeping together, and decided not to disturb them. There was also a hollowness behind Trott’s gratitude. He worried that this might not be the last time they’d sleep apart.

With earphones in but not playing anything, and sunglasses hiding his scrutinising eyes, Trott walked around the city. He ran small errands; visiting the Post Office, buying meats and cheeses as well and fruits and salads, and even a couple of bunches of flowers - Sweet Williams and Germinis - from the market stalls, picking up Sips’ favourite incenses and flavoured tobacco, visiting friends for coffee, and all the while he kept his senses aware of any news or clue about where Ross may have gone.  
The selkie had tried all the churches and both cathedrals. It would have been unlikely for the gargoyle to have gone somewhere so obvious, especially considering the amount of pain he must have gone through to have left in the first place. But a part of Trott hoped that his loyalty would have brought him somewhere familiar, or even that the deprivation was so much, Ross would have wanted to be found, though this didn’t seem to be the case.  
If anyone was aware of seeing a gargoyle anywhere unusual, they weren’t talking about it. No one eyed Trott with a knowing look, which suggested Ross had worked on his own, and if anyone had spotted the gargoyle, they were unaware that he wasn’t with the court.  
Of course, there was the possibility that someone had taken Ross, with him either willing or not. The first place the selkie had looked after the churches was in Kirin’s haunts. He hadn’t gone in himself, but spies had come back to Trott, saying that there was no evidence of Ross being in Kirin’s territory.  
But this didn’t mean that the gargoyle wasn’t being held by Kirin somewhere else. The city was so full of secrets and places to hide. And the fae had more friends than anyone. It had been seven weeks since Ross had left, and it was getting harder and harder to believe he was even still in the city.  
Nano had left too, but the reason was to help in the search. She went through the suburbs and marshy outskirts with a fine-toothed comb, to no avail. If Ross had been at Will’s house, or anywhere near, he’d have gotten himself into a lot of trouble, and she would have known about it. She left the city to look even further afield.  
The Garbage Court did their best to conceal Ross’ disappearance, mostly by keeping up business with their established clientele, and using their powers of persuasion to turn any mention of the gargoyle into a completely different subject.  
It still surprised Trott that Kirin had not called them out, however. He had eyes all over the city, and had one of the most intelligent minds. Surely, he’d figured it out? It was the thing that alarmed the selkie the most, in fact. Did Kirin know something? Without asking him directly, Trott would never know.

Sips was tired. He had taken up cycling, and found himself peddling harder than his legs wanted him to. He’d get home, have a shower and a coughing fit, then stare at reality shows, unaware of anything that was happening in them. If Smith was home, the kelpie would pick up the crown, which had been discarded on the coffee table before the bike ride, and place it gently on Sips’ head. Then he would sit at Sips’ feet, and once he was asleep, the king would remove the crown again and put it back on the table in front of him.  
Smith started to notice the bags under Sips’ eyes, and was fascinated at how they would disappear if his king went anywhere for business. He wondered if it was glamour or makeup, but didn’t question it.

Smith set fire to a music venue, after the sphinx at the door wouldn’t let him in.  
“I am in heaven but not in hell.  
I’m in the devil but not in god.  
I’m in the river but not in the sea.  
What am I?”  
Smith’s eyes smiled, as he stared for a moment at the sphinx.  
“The letter ‘v’,” he replied softly.  
“Well done, kelpie, but unfortunately I still cannot let you in.” The sphinx had no emotion on his face, and it made Smith more than a little frustrated.  
“Why?” he asked, indignantly.  
“Because the proprietor has told me you are not welcome.”  
“I answered the riddle correctly, you have to let me in, that’s what you do,” Smith realised his offence too late.  
The sphinx’s head tilted, and his lips pursed. “I do a little more than that, kelpie. If someone is not allowed entrance, they cannot go forward. I am sorry.”  
“So the riddle was just for your amusement?” Smith chided.  
The sphinx smiled, genuinely. “And amused I am.”  
Cursing under his breath, Smith walked away and paced around the venue car park. He willed that whoever the ‘proprietor’ might be, they would see him out there, and some out to face him. But they didn’t. So the kelpie pulled out the canister of petrol from his car.  
The sphinx found him, after everyone had evacuated. The fire was put out, but a satisfying amount of damage had been done.  
They leaned against the railing of the mall entrance, watching confused and excited music fans swarm around the still hot building.  
“I hardly think that was necessary,” the sphinx said, pulling a slim cigarette from the top pocket of his jacket.  
He had a fitted suit, covering a tall, lean lion body. Smith noticed the fur on the backs of his hands as he lit the cigarette. It was thick, but looked soft. He had mid-length, wavy hair, and a full beard, adding to his lion appearance, and the white, open collared shirt underneath his jacket suggested the soft fur covered most of him. He wore glasses, and Smith wondered if they were just for show.  
The kelpie didn’t reply, and the sphinx inhaled. After blowing away some of the smoke, he spoke again, “Think of the wonderful night these people were having. And you have spoiled it.” His voice was always soft, and Smith found it hard to judge the emotion behind it.  
The kelpie smirked, and retorted, “I think I made it better, looking at them. They’re loving it.”  
“Hmm,” the sphinx took another drag of the cigarette. “I think it’s simply awful, that this might be the most drama some of these people have seen, or will see, for a long time.”  
It sounded dry-humoured, and Smith laughed. The sphinx did not waver, but raised his eyebrows to suggest he was enjoying himself.  
“I’m sorry about your entrance,” Smith offered.  
The sphinx let out a long shrug. “I go where I’m needed. There are always people who will pay good money for a sphinx as a doorman. I feel no obligation, other than for my own sufficiency, to these places.”  
This put Smith at ease. He wasn’t sure if the sphinx was to be totally trusted, but there was no reason for him to be dishonest. If the sphinx had intended to hurt Smith, he would have devoured the kelpie in one go, not a second thought about it.  
“Is that a sphinx thing, to work as much as it suits you?” Smith asked, curious.  
The sphinx looked at him thoughtfully before replying, “I think so. I haven’t met many.” It wasn’t particularly insightful feedback, but it occurred to Smith that it was probably a lack of trust on the sphinx’s part.  
The kelpie held a hand out to him, “Smith,” he greeted.  
A small, sideways smile appeared at the corner of the sphinx’s mouth. “Tom,” he said, shaking Smith’s hand.

“Fucksake, Smith!” Trott exclaimed to his phone, as he placed it on the desk after hanging up from his conversation.  
The selkie closed his eyes, reached his hands to rub at the back of his aching neck, and sighed, heavily.  
“What is it?” The low-pitched question was full of exasperation.  
It made Trott jump. His eyes opened, and he turned to see Sips standing in the doorway, resting his head on the frame.  
“Nothing, I’ll deal with hi-” Trott cut off the end of the word. “With it,” he corrected.  
Sips shifted his stance, and his face was full of warning. “You better tell me what he did, Trott. We’re in this together.”  
The last part of the sentence stunned Trott. He realised the truth behind it. They couldn’t keep things from each other, not now.  
“Sorry,” he began, breathy, and full of stress.  
Sips changed again. He was full of endearment and care, and walked over to Trott to place his hands softly over the back of his neck. Whilst massaging slowly, Trott told him what had happened.  
“He practically burned down The Hive. It had only been open for three months, and was a safe place for fae to go.” Sighing, the selkie paused.  
Sips could feel the tension rising once more under the skin he was touching. He suddenly wondered if stress affected fae in the same way as it did humans. Disturbed by this thought, he leaned down to kiss the top of Trott’s head.  
“Let me?” he asked, sympathetically.  
Trott thought about it for a few moments, and nodded his head in reply.

Trott went to bed, and this time didn’t stay awake. His body tried to fight, being used to issuing punishment for things such as burning down buildings, and the selkie’s gut ached with the absence of the satisfaction it would give him. But his mind was simply not allowing it. Frustration, exhaustion and depression had meant that once Trott’s head was buried in his pillow, and his eyes closed, he fell into a deep sleep.  
In the living room, Sips sat and waited for Smith. There was no telling for sure if he’d come back, but Trott had promised he would.  
The king sipped at the cocktail he’d made. It didn’t have a name yet, but it was full of refreshing fruit juices, set to a lime mixer and lined with bourbon and orange bitters. The crown sat on the table, and Sips let the soft sounds of Hall and Oates float through the thick summer air.  
Smith returned, sober and ready to face the music for what he had done. Immediately, he recognised things were not as they should be.  
“Where’s Trott?” he asked, hesitantly.  
Smith expected Sips to reply with anything but, “He’s asleep,” but that’s exactly what he got.  
The kelpie blinked, at first unbelieving. “Asleep?” He asked.  
Sips turned to Smith and his eyes stared with vexation. “That’s what I said.”  
Smith removed his jacket, tentatively, thinking hard enough for his brows to furrow. Sips simply watched him, sensing the upset in the balance of their home. It made him uncomfortable too, but knew that the harmony had been torn apart a while ago.  
Smith made to move across the room, towards the bedroom.  
“Don’t you fucking dare,” Sips spoke with quiet dismay.  
Smith almost went to retort, but as he looked to his king, he stopped himself. Sips could have sworn the kelpie looked crushed, but again, he knew it wasn’t by his hand. It had happened weeks ago.  
Breathing with strength enough to keep himself from falling apart, Smith turned to the coffee table.  
“Why don’t you wear your crown anymore?”  
A wrench of guilt made Sips feel sick. The question sounded as though it was from the mouth of a child, who had only just realised that the person they most looked up to was fallible.  
Whether from the drink, or from anxiety, the king’s dry mouth made it hard for him to speak. He wished it was water he was holding. Running his tongue around his mouth and lips, he managed to say, “My court is not complete.”  
Smith couldn’t turn away from the embroidered cap, which sat inanimate and positively sad. Hot tears stung as he nodded in agreement. Desperate for comfort, the kelpie sank to his knees and crawled to Sips. His king gently stroked his hair, making it stick up in ways which he’d usually curse. Hugging Sips’ leg, a pained Smith rested his head on his king’s knee and closed his eyes.

Waking up alone, Trott turned to the warm glimpse of sunrise seeping through the thin curtains. A pair of magpies who lived in a tall alder tree one road over were making a racket. Their cackles were low-toned, and bounced off all the rooftops of the terraced houses. It was at least an hour before the rest of the city would wake up and drown them out.  
The selkie sat up in bed and reached over to pull the curtains back. He spent the next two hours watching the stirring of the streets, and catching glances of people in opposite windows.  
Smith brought in a comforting fruit tea. He’d chosen pineapple, his logic being that it was a refreshing, awakening taste and smell, and yellow is a happy colour. Trott smiled warmly, Smith was pleased with himself.  
“Thank you.”  
There was silence for a while, and where it would usually be comfortable, Smith rubbed his arm nervously, and couldn’t meet Trott’s eye.  
“I know,” Trott assured.  
Smith turned his head finally, and relaxed. He sighed before speaking.  
“I know you know. I just want things to be right again. Why are they not right? It’s not just about him.”  
Sympathetically, Trott stroked Smith’s shoulder. “I’ll fix it,” he enforced, even though his head was swimming.  
The selkie walked to the park, saying he had more errands to run, when in fact, he just needed to get out.  
He had never felt this unsure and mixed up about anything in his life. He was the one with answers, he was the one with certainty, he was the one who would get things done the way they needed to be. However, he had nothing left. He wasn’t the same as he was seven weeks ago, and because he was so lost, he couldn’t figure out why.

Four miles outside the centre of the city, a stately home stood hidden away by an eight foot stone wall, which in turn was surrounded by woods. To anyone passing by, it was easy to miss, masked by magic, and passed off as a green space in the city. The house stood, well maintained but not much lived in. Its gothic architecture created sharp edges against the sky, and just above the door stood a marble gargoyle; still, but conscious, and unable to shake the idea that he ought to be somewhere else.


End file.
